


come spirit

by zoilite



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: (mentioned) - Freeform, Angst, Jon can see ghosts, M/M, quote blatantly taken from the secret garden
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-09
Updated: 2020-09-09
Packaged: 2021-03-07 02:34:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 888
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26369557
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zoilite/pseuds/zoilite
Summary: "Does everyone who dies become a ghost?”“They’re only a ghost if someone alive is still holding onto them.”
Relationships: Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist & Tim Stoker, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Comments: 4
Kudos: 62





	come spirit

Jon once asked his grandmother, “Does everyone who dies become a ghost?”

To which she replied, “They’re only a ghost if someone alive is still holding onto them.”

Jon took this as enough explanation for why he could still sometimes hear his mother crying at night.

Sometimes, when he snuck downstairs in the wee hours of the morning he could see his grandmother crying at their kitchen table. Right behind her, hands clasping her shoulders was his mother. She, too, was sobbing alongside his grandmother.

Both of them were holding onto her.

* * *

The second ghost that Jon had seen was that of his childhood tormentor. He couldn’t remember his name, his face barely memorable. But the tall lanky frame, caressed by two limbs, pulled into the dark house before him. Jon could hear him yelling. Jon could not get the boy out of his mind. What Jon assumed to be his eternal torment at the hands of some… spider… thing.

Jon hadn’t meant to hold onto him. Yet, he joined Jon on the bus and crept slowly in and out of his vision when Jon whipped his head around, unable to see anyone there. And before bed, Jon could still hear his screams.

Jon would flip through the pages of his books, yet every time he saw a face in his mind’s eye, it was crying. Almost as if his tormentor was following him.

* * *

The third ghost was his grandmother.

Jon had picked up a smoking habit, it helped him ignore the spirits coming in and out of his life. Allowed him to sleep a little easier at night, blaming the wailing on a high. He knew they were real, but the tobacco let him pretend.

He went to therapy, but the NHS didn’t help much. Not many people took “I’m seeing ghosts” too literally, and at that point, a pack of cigs was only 7 pounds. It was just easier to smoke than to confront his feelings. Yet, after finally kicking the habit, his grandmother died.

She would often appear beside him as he was working.

  
“Why are you holding onto me, child? I was your guardian, not your mother. Let me go in peace, Jonathan. Let me go in peace.”

Jon would often squint, closing and opening his eyes. She would disappear between the space behind his eyes. He debated smoking again once she showed up, but there was no use. He wanted to stay clean. He wanted to let go. But that second one was not so easy.

“Jonathan, you difficult boy.” He heard her say as he was flipping through paperwork.

“Go away,” Jon grit out, his voice coming out shaky, fingernails chewed to the quick.

“You talking to me Jon?” Tim popped his head over into Jon’s cubicle.

“No, no sorry Tim. Just-” Jon adjusted his glasses, gesturing to the work on his desk, “burning the candle at both ends, I suppose.”

“Ah yeah, I feel that,” Tim pauses, rocking back and forth on the divider, “Would you want to get drinks or something? Get your mind off work for a bit. You seem like you could use a bit of fun.”

Jon felt a cold hand on his shoulder, startling for a moment. “Yes, Tim. I think I would like that. I could use quite a bit of fun.”

Little did Jon know that every moment spent with Tim, was another moment allowing him to latch on.

* * *

Tim was his fourth ghost.

It was the angry, bitter Tim most times Jon saw him. Jon was constantly haunted by Tim before he died. Unable to save him, unable to save anyone. Tim was the hero of the Unknowing. Tim’s ghost didn’t talk to Jon, either. Rather, choosing to disrupt Jon. He would move his statements around, leave things where he hadn’t left them, turn the light switches in his flat on and off. Anything to be a nuisance, Tim would do.

Sometimes, though, it was the sweet and soft Tim. The Tim that asked Jon to drinks, the Tim that flirted with Sasha and Marin during work hours. The considerate and lovable man that Jon had latched onto after his grandmother passed, his only real friend. Sometimes that Tim would appear on the edges of Jon’s vision, a sad grimace, a pitying look passing across his face as he would sulk past.

Other times, it wasn’t Tim at all. Rather, the scene of Tim exploding played behind Jon’s eyes. As he laid down to sleep, the only thing he could see was Tim, blown to pieces. 

On those nights, Jon sat on the side of the street, across from the pub that the two had so often frequented together. He would sit, head in his hands, sobbing. Jon couldn’t let go of Tim.

* * *

“Jon, can you please tell me what’s going on?”

“Martin, I’m- I’m sorry.”

All that could be heard was a light laughter, the increased buzz of static, and finally- the sound of rolling thunder.

“Jon?” Martin asked, his skin paler than usual, almost translucent. “Jon, what, what did you do?”

“I ruined the world.”

“Well, yeah, I knew that but-”

“And I killed you.”

The look on Martin’s face was that of pity. Not utter betrayal like Jon had imagined it would be. 

Martin was Jon’s fifth, his final ghost.


End file.
